Hetalia Games
by azurezirconia
Summary: When Lovino Vargas volunteers to take his brother's place in the Hunger Games, he meets the cheerful, passionate, and irritating Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. In the midst of blood and death and betrayals, how long can they fight the desire for each other? (Even though it's HG, it is made to be as fluffy and funny as possible. I'm serious.) Rated T for swearing and light yaoi.
1. Chapter 0

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the Hunger Games. This story is inspired by Sunny Day in February's characterization of Romano in her fanfiction Bottom's Up. If you like this style of writing/characterization, check out her Spamano fanfiction!

I apologize in advance for any typos. I appreciate feedback, but please be specific about ways to improve my writing if you leave a critique. Thanks.

Hunger Games Cast:

Katniss- Lovino Romano Vargas (South Italy)

Peeta- Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (Spain)

Gale- Sadik Adnan (Turkey)

Cinna- Toris Laurinaitis (Lithuania)

Effie- Feliks Łukasiewicz (Poland)

Prim- Feliciano Veneziano Vargas (North Italy)

Haymitch- Ancient Rome

Mrs. Everdeen (more like babysitter) - Elizaveta Héderváry (Hungary)

District 1- Luxury: Francis "Glimmer" Bonnefoy (France), Arthur "Marvel" Kirkland (England)

District 2- Masonry/Stonework: Natalya "Clove" Arlovskaya (Belarus); Ivan "Cato" Braginski (Russia)

District 3- Electronics: Eduard von Bock (Estonia), Raivis Galante (Latvia)

District 4- Fishing: Matthias Køhler (Denmark), Lukas Bondevik (Norway)

District 5- Electricity: Kiku "Foxface"/ "Kitsune" Honda (japan), Heracles Karpusi (Greece)

District 6- Transportation: ? (India), ? (Thailand)

District 7- Lumber: Berwald Oxenstierna (Sweden... IKEA lol), Tino Väinämöinen (Finland)

District 8- Textiles (Manufacture of cloth or woven fabric): ? (Seychelles), ? (Monaco)

District 9- Grain: ? (Romania), ? (Bulgaria)

District 10- Livestock: Yao Wang (China), ? (Hong Kong)

District 11- Agriculture: Lars Abrams (Netherlands), Charlotte Abrams (Belgium)

District 12- Coal Mining: Lovino Vargas (South Italy), Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (Spain)

District 13: Graphite Mining (Unofficially they manufactured nuclear weapons and among that housed and produced other weaponry).


	2. Chapter 1

I woke up and shivered from the cool air. My hand landed on the rumpled sheets on the other side of the bed; the fabric was cool.

Then I remembered what today was. Reaping day.

Shit.

There were low voices in the other room. The annoyingly high pitched one of my younger brother, Feliciano, and a lower ugly one from the potato bastard.

Not that it was actually an ugly voice, but it was German, and therefore ugly.

I gritted my teeth, hating that my stupid brother was choosing the potato"s company over mine. I got out of bed, kicked aside one of Feliciano"s random stray cats, which hissed at me, so I kicked it again.

The little fucker scratched me across my bare ankle and I screamed.

No - yelled. A manly yell.

"You better go see what kind of issues your brother's having," came the bastard"s voice.

Feliciano giggled softly, sounding gay as fuck. "It's just the cat, Ludwig. I bet my kitty scratched fratello again."

Oh, hell no. No way was my brother spewing _lies_ about me to his German whatever he is.

I stormed into the other room, looking incredibly pissed off, _because I was, dammit,_ and promptly tripped over the washbasin.

I meant to sweep gracefully into the room like a ... like a ... swan! Yeah! Instead I fell forward and was about to smash my handsome face in when strong arms caught and steadied me.

And then let go extremely quick.

I rubbed my shoulder where the potato bastard had gripped me to stop my fall of non-epicness ... no - it was _his_ fault that I fell in the first place! Damn that weiner sucker!

Damn that stupid German was strong. Fucking not fair that since he was the son of the mayor that he got to eat right while the rest of us didn"t even _dare_ to exercise for fear of burning more calories than absolutely necessary.

So therefore the potato bastard could be called _fat_ in our District.

Ha.

But I digress.

"Good morning, Lovino," came a familiar voice and for the first time I noticed Elizabeta Hedervary standing by the stove cooking breakfast.

Or should I say attempting to cook breakfast, since she was ogling my brother and the potato bastard so fucking shamelessly.

I ignored her.

"Get out of my fucking house," I spat at Ludwig. Who was also fat.

"But Lovi," Feliciano whined, standing up. I rounded on him and smacked in him the face.

Maybe it was an accident. But still.

"Veee~ you're mean!" Feliciano cried, running behind to hide behind his blond boyfriend. "This is my house too so you can't just kick Luddy out!"

I stalked forward, and was pleased to see the German pale. "Then you take your disgusting German and go someplace else where no one can see you."

Feliciano's eyes lit up and began to sneak away.

As if I was going to let him run off alone with that bastard.

"NO!" I hopped forward - not literally you dumbass - and grabbed Feliciano's skinny wrist. "You stay here. And you -" I jabbed my finger at Ludwig - "can disappear. As in now."

I snapped my fingers threateningly at him.

He should've been running away screaming in terror.

Sadly, he didn't.

"I think it would be best if I left now," Ludwig said awkwardly.

My brother gasped. "You can't leave without giving me a kiss!"

What. The. Fuck.

He was freaking sixteen!

"Oh my," Elizabeta said softly. Without looking I knew one she was fucking bleeding from her nose already.

Feliciano smiled, batting his eyelashes like he was _freaking Bambi. _

"U-um…" Ludwig nervously glanced aside and paled when he saw the _deadly _stare I threw right back at him, "…I don't think it's a good idea to do that while your brother's—"

Feliciano didn"t let him finish and pulled him closer, gently pressing their lips together and paralyzing Ludwig for a second with just that one touch, before the blond macho man wrapped an arm around Feliciano as well and kissed him back.

…

…

Well.

This was… well.

I stopped glaring daggers at the German and my little brother – they were too busy getting in each other"s pants anyway to pay attention to me anyway.

Elizabeta was too busy mopping up blood from her nose and trying to take fucking pictures at the same time and at times like these I had no idea why Feliciano and I allowed her to be our caretaker and live with us.

She"s a strange women to say the least. And fucking batshit insane.

I groaned and went back to my room to pull on a pair of jeans and a fashionable jacket. I went out through the back door because I feel like losing my non-existent breakfast over seeing German/Italian soft porn.

Or seeing my kitchen being turned into a fucking crime scene.

S-she better not get any blood on the furniture, dammit!

Walking down the street of the Seam in District 12 was like walking into a fucking black and white movie. No color, no life, and half starved human beings struggling along.

Feliciano and I have been luckier. I could hunt for food, and Elizabeta was a healer, so people paid her what they could for medicine and treating injuries.

Though usually their health problems came from fucking severe malnutrition.

So the prescribed cure was food!

Which they couldn't fucking afford, of course.

It was really a fucking sad story, but it's not like I could do anything about it.

I went out to the woods, picking up my bow and arrows - yes, I could use them fine, thank you very much - and climbed over the electric fence.

The electricity wasn't on when I crossed it. Duh.

Sadik was waiting for me. He's handsome, if you must know, and I know you want to know, with high cheekbones and tanned skin and dark hair.

But since I'm very, very, so damn straight I would never consider him.

Damn straight. Ha!

We really didn't have much to say. Me, not talking, him, being naturally quiet.

Sadik had brought breakfast, and we ate together, sitting on the soft grass and watching the birds and the ambiance was great and all.

"I wonder if my name will be drawn for this year's Reaping," Sadik said idly.

I swallowed my mouthful of bread. "Don't fucking say that."

"My names in there forty-two times." Sadik looked at me, his dark eyes unfathomable. "Your name will be in there twenty-two. Feliciano will be in there only five times."

I was pissed at him for bringing that up. "I don't let him take any fucking tesserae." I watched a bug crawl idly along my jeans before I flicked it off.

"I wish this didn't have to happen. Why don't we run away, just the two of us?" Sadik stared at me, and I looked away uncomfortably.

"We wouldn't make it five fucking miles," I muttered, then cringed at my eternal pessimism.

Sadik shifted so that he was closer, and I fought the urge to scoot away. Not that Sadik was a creeper or did anything like that.

No. Not at all.

Until he started to lean closer, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek. I felt my face flare an unattractive shade of red.

"W-w-what -" I stuttered, leaning back, because sure as hell I wasn't going to kiss him. Fuck no!

"Your hair has red in it," he murmured, tucking a stray strand behind me ear. His hand _accidentally _brushed my curl and I flinched away.

Sadik considered my unwilling expression, then sighed and let me go.

Good.

God, Lovino. What, feeling disappointed? You"re the one that fucking rejected that guy!

He touched my fucking curl, dammit!

I started to get up, gathering all the dead furry critters and the plants that I gathered.

Sadik held out a hand and helped me up. His warm hand lingered around my wrist longer than necessary.

"Don"t go back," he said, half jokingly. "We can run away together."

God, he was kinda sexy looking like that, bathed in the warm glow of the sun and all that shit.

I laughed kind of high pitched, but it was still a MANLY laugh, got it? I slid my hand free and turned around instead.

"Won't happen in a thousand fucking years. I got Feliciano to think about."

Sadik was understandably sullen and quiet when we went to the Hob to trade in our illegally hunted but highly sought fresh meat.

I managed to get half a gallon of tomatoes- yay!- from the grocer and also some flour. The potato bastard had made a _pasta machine_ and given it to Feliciano for his birthday.

It wasn't a magic pasta machine, dumbass. It just had the ability to shred dough into nice even strips so Feliciano and I could have pasta whenever we fucking felt like it.

Which was every meal assuming I had hunted down enough innocent bunnies and cute furry creatures to trade for dough.

By the way, the reason Feliciano gets to stay home and be a fucking housemaid and Elizabeta"s assistant (and that idea is kind of fucking creepy so I try not to dwell on it) is that he couldn"t hunt.

The one and only time I took him out hunting he fucking cried because I was a cruel heartless murderer of bunnies and rainbows and dreams and all that was cute and innocent.

And he fucking tried to heal the rabbit and squirrel I had shot through the eye.

Anyway...

Sadik and I parted to go home and get ready for the Reaping. I was fucking starving again- really Sadik? You think bread fills me up for breakfast?- and was really looking forward to pasta for lunch.

\(^^)/

Even though we were so poor because we live in the crappiest district of them all, I was still the proud owner of a closet where Feliciano and I had clothes to choose from.

I decided to keep it fairly simple, yet _stylish - _we were going to a Reaping, after all. I threw some clothes Feliciano should wear on the bed: a fashionable light yellow shirt and some nice and _really tight, _yet good-fitting washed-out jeans and some... well, sneakers. Just like all of the other clothes, I didn't know what kind of brand they were, but their black color went well with the rest of his outfit, so whatever.

For myself, I chose a cool dress shirt with a casual black tie and some black pants I loved. Last but not least, I had planned to wear really _manly _shoes and an even _manlier _pair sunglasses (I scored those in a really dingy shop somewhere once and had to trade five fucking squirrels for it but I regret _nothing_ since they looked _fantastic _on me).

…

You're probably already aware of it, but in case you haven't noticed it yet, _no_, we didn't and _couldn't_ wear clothes from expensive brands, since we were too fucking _poor_ to afford them.

Also, we've sold all of our clothes that actually _did _have a brand to people from the Capital, so that our household could… well, get a little money.

And _yes_.

Selling my wonderful expensive fashionable shit was fucking _horrible_.

But my brother"s well-being meant more to me.

…

What, it _did_!

Good thing my sense of fashion was also _flawless _with brand-names that were… no brand-names.

So yeah, in the end, I still looked sharp as hell.

_Sad_, but sharp.

…

It's _something_.

…

Anyway…

I nodded, not too unsatisfied as I looked at the clothes on the bed.

_Damn_, brand-names or no brand-names, we'd still look fucking _perfect_ if we wore this.

"Ohh, that looks nice, Lovino!~ Just leave it up to you to think of cool combinations like this!" Feliciano then suddenly said somewhere behind me, making me jump up in surprise.

"I-it's not a matter of thinking of _combinations_, it's a _way of life_. And I'll fucking punch you in the nose if you sneak up on me like that again." I huffed, shoving the clothes in his arms, "...n-now, get yourself dressed."

"Wow, yellow! It's been such a long time since the last time I wore yellow!" Feliciano looked at the shirt in amazement, "...ah, I wonder why..."

"So do I. Your skin has a really nice light tan, so yellow looks great on you." I said with a stern expression - since I was _very _serious about it. I mean, we were talking about _fashion_. Fashion was _serious_ _business_.

My brother looked from the shirt to my straight face and couldn't withhold a laugh.

"God, you"re so _cute _when you're acting like a homo so shamelessly, Lovi!~"

"Wh-wha..." I looked at him utterly _shocked, _"...I'm _not!_"

"What not?~" Feliciano asked, slipping into the shirt, "...not cute or not a shameless homo?~"

"Neither!" I snarled, putting on my dress shirt (a bit roughly) as well.

Feliciano gave me a teasing grin. "You might just happen to attract the attention of Antonio!"

I felt my face redden. Antonio was a bubbly airheaded who would be so _damn_ friendly with me whenever he saw me, which was not very often. Still it was hard to resist the charm of that handsome- no, _average_- man.

"Do you think he'll be at the Reaping?"

I rolled my eyes. "Everyone has to be at the Reaping. But he is eighteen, so his name will be in there for the last time."

"Are you worried for him?" Feliciano was uncharacteristically somber as he smoothed his hair.

I watch him fail epically trying to flatten the stubborn curl. "Why should I be?"

"Well, he's your friend, isn't he? And Sadik too?" Feliciano winked at me. Or he may have been just winking at himself in the mirror.

Gaah. The fucking mysteries of life.

"They are just the annoying assholes in my life. Nothing more," I said harshly.

"Awww… you're so cold, Lovi…" Feliciano said after some incomprehensible mumbling.

"I'm not cold at all." I snorted. "I'm a very warm and affectionate person and I'll fucking kill everybody who dares to say otherwise."

"…are… are you going to kill me then?" my brother asked, breathlessly.

"Damn right I am – unless you pipe the fuck down already."

"But I don't want to die yet! Veee… I'm too young, talented and pretty to die!"

"And so humble, too." I dryly remarked.

Feliciano ignore me and continued his wailing.

"Also, who'll take care of Ludwig when I'm gone? Veee… Will you do it? You will, right? I mean, **someone** has to give him his daily portion of wurst, you kno—"

"Finish that line and I swear I **will** slaughter you."

"Awww… veee…"

"And stop sounding like some spastic cat in heat with your "awww" and "veee", dammit!"

"…"

"Better. Much better."

I watched my brother pout, then decided to take pity on him. Afterall, he was concerned about the Reaping, and as the mature older brother it was my job to comfort him.

"Feliciano, your name has only been there four times. There's no fucking way they're going to pick you."

He lifted his huge amber eyes. "I know. I was more worried about you."

I snorted. "I'm Italian. I'm good at running away."

Feliciano tried to smile and failed. "I hope I won't know anyone that's chosen."

"We can always hope." And maybe two fat whales will crash into the fucking sun today.

Elizabeta was nowhere in sight. Since it was fucking mandatory that everyone has to attend the Reaper, the Peacekeeper had her accompany them to houses to make sure that everyone attended the Reaping and no one could fake a sudden attack of illness.

We walked down to the Reaping, where they sorted us by age. Which meant that I was with the sixteen year olds.

Ludwig was a year older than me, so he was in the section to my left. That blond worrywart already had a crinkle on his forehead from scowling so much.

Feliks "_Effie_" Lukasiewicz was bouncing around the stage. This year, his outfit was a burning neon pink, so bright that it left fucking _images_ on my vision after I looked away.

His hair was in his usual sleek shoulder length style and a softer pink color if you must know- and I know you _want_ to know- and his short frilly maid-outfit-style hot pink dress was paired with a pair of thigh high boots in the same color, only with white lacing and subtle frills.

He looked so _devastatingly_ gay that I wanted to laugh at him.

Except for the fact that he was totally pulling it off. He was attracting quite a few stares, from both males and females.

I was totally _not_ staring at the section of white thighs above Feliks" boots before they disappeared into the white ruffles of his dress, when he leaned over to adjust the too short microphone.

...

He had on white lace panties.

...

May I also mention that his legs are perfectly white and flawless and _just_ the right shape?

...

GAAAH! I am completely straight, dammit!

I looked around wildly to distract myself and luckily I found some entertainment.

Julius Abernathy was slumped down in a chair on the stage. He is the only surviving victor from District 12, and a drunken asshole.

He flung his (fifth?) bottle of wine onto the floor, making Feliks wince delicately.

Julius staggered across the stage to give Feliks Lukasiewicz a hug though I - and the rest of the crowd - could see his hand clamp down on the section of sleek white thigh and start sliding up that sinfully short dress _in front of fucking live TV._

Feliks's outraged embarrassment cracked me up.

Damn, do I have to laugh at other people's distress every time?

The Peacemakers rose to their feet, hesitating. Feliks rolled his eyes and tossed his hair while his other hand slammed into Julius's chin, knocking him backwards and off the fucking stage.

My respect for that girly man boy just rose by ten fucking points.

So after another ten damn minutes that seemed to drag on forever, everyone quieted down to listen to the mayor spew about half and hour of bullshit about the found of the Panem and punishment for the rebellion that happened a fucking century ago was to send two children from each district to fight to the death like some sick Battle Royale freak game.

And then, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for:

The Raping.

I mean, Reaping.

You can bet that goes on in the Games.

Reaping _lives._

Hah. I bet you perverts thought that raping went on, too.

...

It might. I don't exactly remember the episodes from every Game, but I'm sure at some point in time that happened.

I mean if _cannibalism_ can happen, you can bet rape happened.

Oh, God. That means one of the victors could've been a rapist.

As if that's so fucking shocking. They would have to kill at least twenty some people to be crowned victor in the first place.

Anyway...

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I almost missed the drawing for the first Tribute.

Feliks had finished his little speech, which was annoying as hell to listen to because of his Valley Girl accent.

"So, like, welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games, and may the odds be, like, _totally_ in your favor!"

He fucking twirled like a fucking _princess_ as he skipped to the decorated glass bowl holding pieces of our destiny in there and all that wonderful metaphorical shit.

Feliks stood on his tiptoes - which seemed rather excessive since he was already prancing around in four inch heels in his girly as fuck stripper boots - and twirled his fingers dramatically before withdrawing a slim ribbon of paper.

His ever present smirk faded slightly as he looked at them name, but then did his best to beam at the audience.

"Like, Feliciano Vargas, you should totally come up here."


	3. Chapter 2

SHIT.

FUCK.

_FUCK._

This could not be happening.

Everything seemed kind of fuzzy. The crowd muttered angrily; they were not pleased with having the innocent (my ass), sunny Feliciano being chosen as Tribute. Someone was gripping my elbow, which was the only thing preventing me from falling flat on my face.

Then I saw that it was the potato bastard, and I wondered if falling on my face would've been better.

I saw the horrified expression on Ludwig's face. Yes, falling on my fucking face would've been better than watching his face collapse because the true love of his fucking life walk to his death.

Feliciano's face was pale and looked like he wanted to take the fuck off like the proud Italian he was, but instead managed to stumble forward.

Seeing him in the yellow shirt that _I _picked out for him (since I was more fashionable of the two Italian brothers) and how it did _not_ look great with his white, frightened-to-death face (which was usually tan), something in me snapped.

Fuck this shit.

I staggered forward, but the stupid German held me back.

"What the fuck?" I snapped at him. "You are _wrinkling_ my _sleeve_."

The potato had the balls to keep a grip on my wrist. "Don't do anything stupid," he warned.

I sneered at him, then kneed him in the wurst- ha!- and he let go of me _real_ quick, sinking to his knees.

I shoved aside random unimportant people and caught up to Feliciano, gripping his shoulder so hard that he cried out, the weak little pipsqueak.

"I-I-I vol..." I gasped, then stopped, because my voice came out trembling and shrill as fuck and twice as gay.

"I volunteer to be your fucking Tribute."

Feliciano screamed, and I mean _screamed_ because I couldn't hear _shit _for about thirty seconds. His hands latched on me like fucking claws, talons, whatever.

"Feliciano, fuck off!" I snapped, waving my arm with my brother still attached so I probably looked like some mental spastic bird.

I caught the glint of a camera fucking recording every moment of this shit, and I knew right then my life could not get any fucking better.

"No!" Feliciano wailed loudly, his nails digging in deeper and I swear he was going to tear little Feliciano nail prints or whatever into my _nicest_ _non-brand dress shirt._

"Veee~ You can't go and die! You can't go and leave me alone forever! Who's going to keep the shadows away at night?!"

I stared at him for a moment. "That's all you think I'm good for?"

"Well, you're pasta making skill isn't as good as mine, but I can lie if you want me too..."

I wanted to fucking throttle him, or at least change my mind about putting my head on the fucking chopping block.

"Oi! Potato bastard!" I hollered.

Feliciano's eyes widened as he realized the fucking brilliance of my move - five seconds too late, my dear _stupid _brother - and he screamed again - damn he sure knew how to use and abuse decibels while acting like a fucking girl in the process - as Ludwig appeared and hauled him away.

But not before he had effectively wrinkled my sleeve.

I sighed and began the long walk to the stage with a thousand fucking eyes watching me and probably a million more thanks to the fucking cameras.

At least I looked sharp.

Like I said: sad, but _sharp_.

Feliks held out a pink gloved hand to me, a sympathetic expression on his girly face (which was surprisingly naturally beautiful and free of makeup except for some tasteful pink glittery eyeliner and sparkly lip gloss and _dammit don__'__t ask me how I noticed these details_), but I wasn't going to be helped onto the stage like some weak little girl.

But that step was awful high. Fuck.

So I _hopped_ onstage. Like I was so graceful and cool and shit.

Too bad the microphone"s fucking _wire_ was in the way.

And as the floor came rushing up to meet me for the fucking _second _time today, someone grabbed me by the scruff of the neck like I was a fucking kitten - no a MANLY dog ... wait that doesn't even make a _shred_ of sense and it was sure as fuck was _not_ the girly announcer because I could smell stale wine and body odor. I was sure Miss Princess would not smell like that.

I could be mistaken, of course. Even with my fearsome intelligence I was a man and therefore made mistakes.

I wasn't wrong though. Ha!

After flailing my arms like a fucking windmill I righted myself and looked at my savior/kitten grabber.

Which turned out to be none other than fucking Julius Abernathy.

What the shit? When did he crawl back up onstage anyway?

"Like, our first Tribute of District 12!" Feliks announced to the cameras, and started clapping, but it wasn't even real clapping because his hot pink stripper gloves were muting the sound.

Haha.

Anyway, he stopped _real_ quick.

Because no one else was clapping. The audience all quiet, even Feliciano, because though I couldn't see him I couldn't hear him either so there.

It was the only way they could protest. With fucking _silence_. That's how fucking pathetic we were. We do not fucking support this. This is so fucking wrong.

...

That"s probably what they were thinking, minus all the swearing.

...

Then they all raised their hand, giving me the three fingered salute of the district. It could mean thanks, admiration, and goodbye to a loved one, or it could mean "Westside, _bitches_." Or a peace sign with an extra finger.

I'm sure it meant the first option.

I stood there wishing they'll all fucking magically disappear because I felt my vision blur - I was NOT going to fucking cry, you hear? I just got some fucking dirt in my eye!

Yeah.

I sniffed and then all of a sudden I remembered the drunk asshole next to me because he fucking grabbed my arm and raised it up.

"I like this one!" he slurred. "He's got... guts! More than you!" He pointed randomly to people. "And you!" He pointed to Feliks, who put his hands on his flat (but ruffled) chest like he was afraid Julius would fucking dirty him with his _finger point._

Then I felt his hand on my _ass._

"He"s got a nice ass too," Julius muttered, "and a nice-"

Nobody else got know what else I had that was so fucking _nice._ Because I fucking elbowed him with my killer sharp elbows and he bent over, and I used my super kung fu skills to _roll him off the stage._

It's not like I wasn't strong enough to toss him off the stage, dammit! Just look at my manly muscles! I just - didn't - want t-to -

Never mind that.

Just shut the fuck up.

The crash Julius Aber-something made falling off the fucking stage for the _second_ time seemed to wake Feliks up. He smoothed his dress and smiled radiantly around.

That's when I noticed for the first time his eyes were fucking _pink._

No, not all bloodshot and shit, but the irises were a creepily bright magenta that- of course- matched his entire outfit.

I was so engrossed with trying to sneak glances as his curiously colored eyes that I almost missed the next name.

"Like, what a looong name, but totally worth it since its totally sexy sounding! Will you, like, come up here, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo?"

I felt my jaw fucking drop and crash to the stage. Metaphorically of course. So they wouldn't have to scrap pieces of my body of the fucking stage.

Feliks calmly reached over and snapped by jaw back up.

…

Shit.

So, as Feliks would put it: the odds were totally _not_ in my favor today.

"Sooo, like, any volunteers?" Feliks calls. The audience is silent as Antonio walks up and I noticed that he had a pretty nice ass-

Nope. Not going there.

Lovino, you're fucking straight, remember?

His handsome- no no no- _normal_ face is held up high and for once there was not a smile on his lips. Even though he has a three brothers, no one volunteers for him.

Such as shame that gorgeous body won't be in one piece after-

Fuck.

Must not think about it.

...

I was talking about thinking about dying in the Games.

What else did you think?

Perverts.

Anyway, I feel like I owe you guys a _flashback_. Yes, it's very dramatic.

Okay: so once upon a time and all that crap, my mother suddenly died when I was about four. I didn't really remember much of her, except that she was a kind, beautiful woman who laughed a lot and loved me as much as she did Feliciano.

Father died in a mine explosion when I was eleven. Money quickly ran out after that.

So Feliciano and I was slowly starving to death (and I had to sell my fashionable designer clothes, remember? *shudders*) and no one was willing to help us because they were all starving to death too.

I had to wait three more fucking months to get tesserae, and by then my brother and I would be skeletons in the fucking ground, so I had to do something.

I went out with the last of our clothing that I couldn't sell on Panem's eBay and nobody was rich enough or tasteful enough to admire designer clothing so I couldn't sell them.

And because I was the pathetic Italian I couldn't bear to return home and tell my brother that we were going to starve to death and become skeletons in the ground I decided I didn't give a fuck anymore and just die on the streets.

Did I also mention it was raining? It was raining. Because it's more dramatic and depressing that way.

Ew. All that mud and shit.

There.

So I decided to torture myself a bit and crawled to the front of the cafe where I could smell the _wonderfulness that is __**food**_**. **And in the storefront window were a display of fucking huge, shiny tomatoes.

Smart move, huh?

So I sat in the disgusting dirt and was going to lay down and die when I noticed a boy staring at me. The only reason I recognized him was because he had the most fucking beautiful shade of green eyes and I was jealous because my eyes were brown but I wasn't really jealous since it wasn't like I could dig his eyes out and transplant them into my own sockets.

Anyway I thought this was just fan-_fucking_-tastic because now I got an audience to watch me as I kicked the bucket. Yay.

But the boy had the decency to turn around and go back inside his disgustingly good smelling cafe and I realized that his face was kind of beautiful (objectively speaking of course, so don"t get any weird ideas) and I also realized that it would be the last beautiful thing I would ever see.

Unless I could see my reflection in the window. Which I couldn"t, so there.

Then there was some loud clanging and I was pissed because I _still_ couldn"t die in peace and some bitch was yelling really loudly.

The boy appeared, now sporting a red slash across his cheek, carrying a burnt cake-shaped omelet thing and several _tomatoes_. He ripped a few pieces from the omelet and tossed them to the pigs, then wrapped the food (and tomatoes) up in a scrap of cloth and threw the bundle in my direction and ran back into the store.

I stared at the food as if it was ambrosia and nectar from the gods that have ignored me for sooo long. (And still ignoring me, by the way.) You saw how fucking beautifully that Reaping turned out, no?

So I suddenly decided not to die anymore. I snatched up the food, and tucked them under my shirt to keep them from the rain and ran home to tell my brother that we were not going to fucking starve - at least not for the next forty eight hours.

As my brother and I sat down at the table and ate the (Spanish!) omelet and tomatoes I suddenly realized that they boy must"ve burned the omelet on purpose so he would have an excuse to give it to me (and snuck me a few **awesome **tomatoes)- and suffered the punishment from his bitch of a mother.

The next day the boy didn't even look at me in school, now sporting an ugly bruise across one cheek. I was on the playground when I saw a dandelion growing on the side of a fence.

I know. You"re probably thinking big deal, it's a fucking weed, but I realized I could _eat_ it.

Not that single, lonely dandelion, mind you. But out in the wild, beyond the fence. Where there were millions of edible plants that were, you know, edible.

And more than that. My father still stashed bows and arrows he had crafted somewhere. Maybe I could learn to shoot, and then we'll have meat. Fresh meat. To trade for flour to make dough.

For pasta.

Always for pasta.

And then a few months later Elizabeta was sent to us to be our caretaker, and though she a crazy bitch who starts spurting blood from her nose whenever she saw two (or more) hot men together _doing_ things, she really was a nice motherly kind of person.

...

Antonio was the one that gave me hope to go on living.

And tomatoes.

Fucking gorgeous tomatoes.

...

End flashback.

As I watch Feliks finish wrapping up this crappy little FAIL party, I wondered if I could thank him before I kill him?

Assuming I wanted to kill him.

Because anyone who loves tomatoes should never have to die.

I'll have to kill everyone first. And that's a lot of fucking work.

I think I'm sticking with plan A:

Run like an Italian.


	4. Chapter 3

Antonio and I were taken to these fucking gorgeous rooms to say our farewells/wills/death wishes to our family members.

I sat in the nicest plush chair I've ever seen in my entire life, and it was very comfy, if I do says so myself.

Sadly, the comfort only extended to my ass. By head was throbbing and my hands were sweaty and disgusting and I probably looked like I could have a shit-tastic breakdown any second.

As soon as the door opened, Feliciano went in sobbing and nearly missed tackling me and almost decapitated himself on the fucking sharp edge of a table, which would've been such a shame since I'd given up my awesome life to save his pathetic one.

"Loooovviiiii!" he sobbed. It was amazing how many vowels he could fit into my name.

"Feliciano," I choked out, since he was fucking squeezing me to death.

The potato bastard had the sense to rescue me again by prying him off of me.

Fuck, that kid had cried a fucking river onto my shirt.

In the record time of twenty seconds.

Elizabeta was there too, sobbing quietly into a handkerchief.

I swallowed and slowly raised my head to look her in the eyes.

"We're practically like family anyway… w-why else would I feel the same feelings for you as I would feel for a sister…so..."

I took a deep breath.

"T-take care of Feliciano. Because I w-won't be there to."

Elizabeta's huge eyes flooded with fresh tears and clasped her hands in front of her mouth.

"L-Lovino… I-I will..." she gasped, and flung herself at me.

I made a strangled noise when the blond Hungarian female abruptly wrapped her arms around me and pressed me against her chest.

"I promise you that your brother will be in good hands!"

"Yur boobs r klling mh!" I tried and failed to exclaim, flailing my arms.

"What's he saying?" Elizabeta asked.

"He says he loves you very much and that you should hug him a little bit more." the potato bastard deadpanned.

"WHAT!" I succeeded to snarl at him – but was then pushed back into Elizabeta's bouncy breasts once again, who kept on sobbing and hugging me until I saw stars and passed out.

…

Yes, I actually passed out. For a second or two.

So?

Don't judge me, I'm not used to having so much smothering female all over me, dammit!

After I recovered from my near death experience, Feliciano reattached himself to me and started another wet pool of tears on my poor shirt.

"Veee~ Lovi... I don't want you to die," he moaned pitifully.

"Me neither." I didn't really know what to say to those fucking heartbreaking kicked puppy dog eyes.

"Promise me you'll win, okay? W-win, and you can come home," Feliciano whispered.

I patted his head. "I'll see how good my Italian war tactics are."

He managed a wobbly smile. "Promise?" He held out his pinky finger.

I almost choked (He was what? Fucking three years old?!) but hooked my trembling finger around his. "I-I promise to do my best."

"Veee~! Best doesn't cut it! You will win for sure!" Feliciano sniffed.

"And I'm the fucking Queen of the World."

Feliciano half giggled, half sobbed.

Ew. Was that snot?

There better not be any disgusting bodily fluids on my shirt, dammit!

"Queen, Lovi?" he asked.

"King, dammit! King of the World! Fuck you, you know what I mean!"

The Peacekeepers started tugging him away and he leaned forward to press one last kiss - what?! - to my cheek.

"I love you, fratello!" he cried before they dragged him away. Elizabeta let out something that sounded like a combination of a sob and "aww!~"

"L-love you too," I choked out. Dammit, I was not going to fucking cry like a baby girl.

The Peacekeeper wanted to kick Ludwig out too, but he was all like, "I'm waiting for my father aka the mayor who could fire your asses" so the potato bastard got to stand stiffly in the corner like a bad little boy.

Stupid privileged rich fat people.

Really, he wasn't fat, all toned muscles and abs and shit, but I'm only saying nice things because I was going to die anyway, you fucking got that?

Anyway...

My next visitor was the mayor himself. He looked like an older version of Ludwig, except his blond hair was longer and he had a regal expression on his face, like he had a stick the size of a pillar up his ass.

All potato bastards are the same, I guess.

Wait. I guess I said that too soon because that's when Ludwig's older brother Gilbert waltz in to proclaim his awesomeness to the world, or at least this fucking tiny but cushy room.

You can tell the Peacemakers were pissed off.

Gilbert didn't have the traditional Aryan looks that his father and brother did, but he was exotically beautiful in his own way (being objective here, perverts!). He had sleek silvery hair and crimson eyes, which marked him as fucking albino, but that fact was never confirmed, and I never cared to ask.

Mr. Beilschmidt made him shut up for a moment while he handed me a package.

"I won't say good luck, but I want you to know that I'll... watch over Feliciano when I can," he said awkwardly.

The ugly accent made it worse.

I opened his gift and I fought the urge to fling it away from me as if it was infected.

It was fucking wurst.

I resisted the urge to fling it away from me immediately as if it were some horrible, horrible disease, which is is according to the food world.

I looked up to see if it was some funny half assed joke, but all the potato bastards' faces were serious.

I mean, it was good quality sausage made from real pork, and it must've cost them quite a bit. My eyes pricked and I bit down on my bottom lip.

I must've been so fucking pathetic that even potatoes pitied me.

I'll throw it away later, since there was no way my Italian palate could stomach German food, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Mr. Beilschmidt patted me on the head and turned to go.

What was I? A freaking dog?

Then Gilbert hopped down from his perch on the table and pointed at me. "You better go in there and be awesome."

I stared at him like he was mental, which he could be.

"And since you are my awesome little bruder's boyfriend's bruder, I will present to you an awesome gift!" he announced, beaming brightly at me.

"Is it more wurst?" I asked warily.

He laughed and ran a hand through his weird but beautiful hair.

Damn that hair. It was like spider silk and moonlight and I fucking wanted to run my fingers through it no to fucking burn it until he was bald.

Ha!

If you say you don't believe me I'll make YOU bald.

...

Anyway...

Gilbert dug into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin... no, a pin. He held it so close to my face that I had to go cross eyed to see it.

It was a circular gold pin, with a baby chick in the center. Wtf?

"It's for good luck, kesekesekese~!" The albino jabbed the pin into my chest- without my warning!- and started to clasped it in place- without my permission!

"Hey! What the fuck-?" I started.

His disturbingly blood-red eyes stared into mine. "It's for good luck and awesomeness, of course! It's specially made- isn't that awesome?- after my first awesome Gilbird died and has my awesome Gilbird on it!"

I scowled, but nonetheless touched my his... generosity. "Thanks," I mumbled.

"Don't mention it. Because I'm the awesome me! Best of luck to you and Anton!"

His father said something in that ugly language - ugh, it grated on my poor ears - and they all turned to go.

I impulsively grabbed Ludwig's collar, and he had the audacity to look a little miffed at wrinkling his shirt - as if he didn't wrinkle mine earlier, dammit!

"Keep Feliciano safe, you hear me? If you ever hurt him I will fucking hunt you down and kill you, Games or no Games," I muttered.

Ludwig considered my near maniacal expression and frowned deeper, but his words were sincere. "I will."

"Then go. Go comfort him." I shoved him away from me, disgusted at the lack of emotions on that stupid Germanic face.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but the Peacekeepers (finally!) threw him out.

Why do Peacekeepers wear white anyway? They look like fucking clones from Star Wars.

Then Sadik walked in and it took all my self control not to burst into tears. He was there, holding me, and I trembled but did not cry.

Like a man!

A manly man!

Yeah...

"I should've volunteered," he whispered into my hair. "I should've volunteered for you."

God, he was so warm and sexy and oh so yummy and why the hell am I thinking all this?

I snorted, glad my tomato red face was hidden from view. "I don't think volunteering for the volunteer-ee is legal. And who's going to feed your family if you do?"

Hmm, he smells kind of like sunshine and spice and citrus...

Do not go there, Lovino.

You're straight, got that? Straaaiiight.

Right.

We were stupid enough - and because we were awkward men - that we didn't say much and it was time for the wannabe snow clones to drag Sadik out.

"Lovino," he called. "Remember I lo-"

Bam! Door slammed into his face.

Damn. Now I never knew what he was going to say.

Maybe it was some top secret trick to staying alive!

...

Really, Lovino. Really. Top secret trick? What was he, a fucking magician?

...

SO.

We were taken to the train station, and Antonio's eyes are glimmering with tears, and they made his green eyes look like pools of sparkly emeralds...

GAH.

I didn't want to see the people saying goodbye to us because they were probably thrilled their own kids weren't chosen to be the pigs sent to slaughter.

The other reason for running/jerky fastwalking to the train was to hide the fact that there were huge damp spots on my shirt.

I didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea, you see.

I mean, there's no way those were my tears, right?

So I snuck onto the train James Bond style~! and into my compartment and I knew it was my compartment because it had my name on it, duh.

It was even more cushy than the room and most importantly: there was a closet.

Gasp!

I opened it and I could've sworn there were birds flying and gay sparkles and rainbows everywhere because the clothes were designer brand names.

I sniffed as I touched the sleeve of an Armani dress shirt.

So beautiful.

After inspecting each article of clothing and wallowing in my love affair of all that is fashion and style I chose a dark green shirt and tight Diesel jeans (Diesel!) that made my ass look fiiiine.

I checked.

In the mirror.

The one with vanity lights.

S-so fucking beautiful.

I-I just wish I didn't have to die so soon! (insert frowny face).

I sighed and kicked my old non-brand name clothes in the corner, and after a moment, retrieved the pin that Gilbert gave me.

But I didn't put it on. It would be a fucking crime to tear two little pinholes into Armani.

It was just the principle of things.

After I was done "acting like a homo so shamelessly!", I went down to dinner.

Then I realized anyone could get fat from all the delicious food that all laid out so fucking beautifully.

And there was Italian food. Genuine Italian cuisine.

Ha!

Good thing I had a freaky high metabolism.

Which sucked when I was starving, by the way.

I barely noticed Antonio already stuffing his face already because a second later I was there stuffing my face like a madman.

I ignored all the weird and colorful appetizers and instead went straight for a pasta dish. It was loaded with cheese and tomatoes and herbs and more tomatoes and a creamy tomato sauce and crushed tomatoes.

It made a difference because it was crushed, dammit!

After I'd inhaled my fourth plate of pasta, I finally calmed down enough to look around.

The only one other than Antonio present was Feliks. He'd changed out of his weird gay-ass costume and was now in a tasteful pink shirt and stylishly faded jeans, and his eyes turned out to be a regular light green and his hair blond.

He wasn't really watching us; he was just perched on an armchair texting someone and making cutesy giggly noises, but he looked up the same time I did.

"Totally glad to see you two at least have some, like, manners," he said approvingly. "The two Tributes last year ate like savages."

Antonio seemed annoyed to hear the smug tone of Feliks' voice. So did I. We looked at each other and dove back into our food, this time minus silverware.

"Try some focaccia," I said, dropping the dish onto his plate. With my hands.

Feliks looked shocked.

'This is great, Lovino~!" Antonio told me right after tearing off a huge bite.

I proudly grinned back at him.

"Heh, I could have told you that much – it's Italian food, the best food there is,"

I ate my food with wonderful orgasmic sounds while eating it, just because it was fun to watch Antonio's face.

Which lit up like a red fat beetroot when I was moaning yummy noises and making obscene tongue movements with the cheese on my pizza.

Feliks pouted at our immature display and sunk deeper into his chair, trying to block out the sound of us loudly chewing and moaning about how great the food was.

I paused and scowled at him. Antonio, not Feliks.

"What?' Antonio asked, blinking, "… do I have something on my face?"

"Don't you always have something on your face?" I huffed, grabbing his collar and pulling his face closer.

"Dammit, you and your 'talent' to eat like a fucking toddler … wait …"

I wetted a finger and pushed it against the red smudge of tomato sauce on Antonio's cheek, rubbing it harshly.

Antonio winced a bit and narrowed one of his eyes, but didn't lose the tiny smile on his face.

"Ah, you're so caring, Lovino…~"

"L-like hell!" I lied, "…I-I just don't want to walk around with an idiot that has got shit smeared all over his face, s-so don't get me wrong!'

"You both totally have, like, shit smeared all over your faces," Feliks cut in.

"If you say one more thing I'll smear this shit over your face," I said threateningly, wagging my tomato sauce covered finger.

Feliks squeaked and covered his blond hair. "Like, don't you dare, missy!"

"Missy?" I repeated with a snarl, holding my fork threateningly, but Antonio shook his head and pointed to the TV instead.

It was the broadcast of all the Reapings from the other Districts. A pair of gorgeous blond boys from District 1, a monstrous boy and a vicious blond girl who volunteered from District 2, a quiet dark haired boy from District 5, a small young girl from District 11, who couldn't have been older than twelve.

They also broadcasted the silent salute from District 12. Damn, I rocked those brandless clothes.

A-and Antonio looked hot as ever.

ANYWAY.

Feliks was scowling deeply because they also broadcasted the scene of him getting molested my Julius Abernathy and his falling of the stage twice.

I cringed when they showed me rolling the asshole off the stage.

Antonio laughed at that, and it was such a pleasant sound that both Feliks and I snapped our heads towards that godly sound.

I huffed. "It wasn't that funny."

"Yes it was," Antonio said. "By the way, you have pasta on your shoulder."

I looked down and saw the strand dangling limply there.

Ew.

I flung it off with a little more force than necessary, and it landed on Antonio's cheek.

Ha.

His eyes narrowed and he flicked a meatball in my direction.

Ah!

I held up my plate as a shield, which saved me from the meatball, but unfortunately meant that I emptied my entire plate onto the tablecloth.

I peeked out from behind my plate just to feel a grape bounce off my head.

I lobbed an orange back.

"Ow! Lovino~," Antonio whined.

The next time I peeked out I got whipped cream dabbed onto my curl.

"C-chigi!" I yelled, my face turning red and I ruthlessly smacked a scoop of ice cream on his forehead.

"Nooo!" Antonio gasped, dropping his head onto the table and smearing his head on the tablecloth like fucking mental monkey. "I'll get a brain freeze!"

I was about to drop an ice cube down his shirt when the door banged open and I could smell the alcohol.

"Hey ... did I miss dinner?" Julius slurred.

"Yes, you drunk douchebag of shit," I grumbled, slinking back down into my seat like the good boy I wasn't.

Feliks sniffed disapprovingly. "Like, if you weren't totally smashed you would know~"

I could see the effort it took Julius to focus his eyes on the blond.

He scowled lopsidedly. "Well, this is what I think of you, you stupid tranny- bhhhhhaaaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhh."

We all watched, horrified, as his vomit defiled the poor carpet, except we all know that the carpet probably costed more than our whole District put together.

And then he fell in it. His own puddle of shitty grossness.

Feliks finally uttered a little gasp. He looked scandalized. "H-how dare you, like, call me a tranny?" he demanded shrilly, wagging a finger at the unconscious Julius.

That's what he's worried about?

I was about to smack my head on the table, then I realized I would just be suffocating myself in a shitload of cold pasta, so I didn't.


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Feliks skipped out of the room, avoiding the puddle of gross body fluids. I wanted to grab him by his Jimmy Choos so he'll fucking face plant into the vomit, but I thought that was a too horrible fate for someone who had as much taste in clothing as me.

What?

Fashion was serious business!

Anyways...

The smell of regurgitated alcohol was making me dizzy, so I quickly backed away.

Antonio's perpetual smile was gone; he seemed genuinely perplexed by our rather unfortunate situation.

"Don't hurt yourself thinking," I muttered, calculating the distance to the doorway with narrowed eyes. I could definitely make it if I held my breath.

"But Lovi-"

"It's Lovino, bastard," I snapped. "Don't get all buddy buddy with me just yet."

Antonio frowned, hurt, but decided to let it drop. "What do we do? He's suppose to be our mentor but he's inebri ... inerib ... inberi ... drunk and passed out on that sixteenth century Ottoman carpet!"

"I didn't know that."

"But he's right there, Lovi! How can you un-see it?" Antonio was waay too cute with flecks of ice cream still stuck to his curly brown hair.

I mentally bitch slapped myself.

"God, Antonio, even the carpet knows that. I meant how did you know it was Ottoman?"

Antonio stared. "I don't. Isn't that where all carpets come from? Like Aladdin and the Magic Lamp?"

"Magic Lamp my ass!" Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms importantly. "First we have to figure out what to do with this douchebag. I'm not rolling him anywhere again."

"Of course not, Lovi."

"Lovino, bastard. I say we push him out the window. Or even better, burn the body and maybe this whole train. Then I can say I died happy, because damn that was the best meal ever."

"I'll clean him up."

I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly. "Excuse me? You want to clean up that asshole instead of pitching him out the window?"

"Yes~!"

"Antonio, I didn't know you were so fond of cleaning up after his lovely technicolor yawn, but be my guest."

I fucking skipped out of that room.

Then I immediately felt guilty when I heard Antonio sigh tiredly and the sound of a body being slowly dragged across a carpet lubricated with...

Nope. Not even going to go there. I don't feel like losing the contents of my own stomach.

BUT.

If I did, it would probably be enough to feed the homeless population of District 12.

Hah!

Damn my skinny jeans are really tight...

I found my way back to my compartment, shedding my too tight clothes and just wearing an oversized dress shirt.

Damn all those carbs to the fiery pits of hell! Or maybe just down the toilet.

...

Moving on...

I jumped up and down on my super bouncy bed several times just for the hell of it - don't judge me! - and then calmed down enough to think.

Yes, the great Lovino Vargas, thinking!

...

Don't act so surprised. It's fucking insulting. To me.

So I got to wondering why the fuck Antonio would dirty his nice, strong, tanned hands to help a drunken asshole like Julius.

He was nice.

Antonio was nice.

And a nice Antonio was infinitely scarier than a mean Antonio.

Because nice people have a way of working into my heart and then breaking it into a fucking million pieces.

So I decided to hate him.

Because hating him was easier.

Once that was decided I went over to my pile of old clothes. Because there was a certain smell that was stinking up my room.

I found the wurst Mr. Beilschmidt had given me and realized rather belatedly that I should've donated to some poor person back in the District.

I opened my window and flung it out. Since it was already sliced, it exploded into little ugly red coins.

On top of a wild tomato plant that happened to be growing on the side of the tracks. Which reminded me of that bastard again.

But to understand that you need to hear the sequel to my previous boring flashback for you:

So after Antonio had given me the food and I'd seen the dandelion growing in the crack in the pavement -

By the way, did you know that its easier to sprinkle vinegar on weed between tiles caused them to die and rot away, what was a lot easier to do than going down on your knees with a silly little knife to remove them by hand.

...

What? It's true!

...

But I'm digressing...

So Feliciano and I went to the meadow and looked around for edible plants.

And then I search through any old things my father had left behind and viola~! A map to where his bows and arrows were hidden!

Sometimes I can be so clever.

...

What?

...

The reason they were hidden was that bows and arrows could be use as weapons to start a rebellion.

Pssh. As if.

But I turned out to be a pretty good shot. I'd just imagine animals with people's faces that I hated (like the potato bastard's) and BAM! Bull's eye!

Or rabbit's eye?

So Feliciano and I had the first meat in months and there was much rejoicing.

Over time, I got more and more skilled and was able to bring home leftovers to trade at the black market. That plus signing up for tesserae got us flour.

Add in a pasta maker machine from a German and we got PAAAAASTAAAAA~~~!

And there was more rejoicing.

And then I killed the potato bastard with my own bare fists and I finally became a man!

And there was a shitload of rejoicing all around.

Of course the last part didn't really happen. Just my hyperactive imagination running away with me.

Then last summer, I found a small wild tomato plant growing near a pond. The tomato was too small and bitter to eat.

But by then Elizabeta was living with us and since she was so smart with her knowledge of plants and herbs and all that flora crap that I brought one home and she told me it was a wild Roma tomato plant.

Imagine that. A tomato named after me!

Or was it the other way around?

The ugly potato bastard- back then just a potato boy- told me that Romano meant "Romans."

But it's so much manlier to be named after a tomato than some sweaty hairy brutes, don't you think?

...

Why do I feel like I'm making a fool out of myself again?

Anyway, Elizabeta smiled at me and told me that as long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve.

Hmm. She could be right.

And since I know I'm boring the crap out of you I'll end my flashback there.

So for some reasons my eyes had gotten wet reminiscing about my pathetic childhood and I decided that it was some weird ingredient in Capital food that made me feel this way (What? It could be true!) so I decided that it was time for a siesta.

Turns out I was so tired that when I woke up again it was morning.

And then I finally looked in the mirror and realized that there was still dried whipped cream clinging to my curl.

Ew. Ew. Ew. EW.

And so I found my own bathroom and it was about the same size as my whole fucking house.

A-and the bathtub was so shiny it nearly blinded my just-woken-up-sleepy-eyes.

But I still went for the shower.

I preferred taking showers. Yup. There was nothing that could beat a nice, good ol' shower.

MOSTLY because taking baths was for women, small children and over-the-top gay people ( like Feliciano meets Feliks–kind of gay people) only!

Yes!

REAL men took SHOWERS. No baths – SHOWERS. Since showers were so very manly and cool and come on, did you ever see a commercial with a guy taking a bath while trying to convince his stupid, potential customers to buy a crappy, let's say, loofa? That's just too gay.

It's gay beyond fucking words.

Anyway ... I still preferred showering to bathing because it was easier to think about my life while taking a shower: the sound of the water hitting my skin and the hard bathtub was very soothing for me – I just couldn't stand too much silence whenever I was thinking about myself.

Don't ask me why – it probably has got something to do with my ego. Probably. I'm not sure, though.

So anyway this time I chose a nice blue dress shirt (Gucci, baby!) and just for the hell of it I added Gilbert's weird chick-pin back on.

Breakfast time! Mountains of eggs and pancakes and waffles and potatoes ew! and more eggs.

But first, I couldn't decide between tomato juice or orange juice. Because they most tasted great in the mornings.

Tomato or orange?

Maybe I'll just slush them together and make an American juice.

Then there were soft footsteps and I looked up to see Antonio give me a beaming, burning, tearing right through the motherfucking sun and stars and massive metal and English inedible scones too smile.

"Good morning, Lovino…~"

"Uh." I said in response, hastily clearing my throat when I realized I had said "uh", "uh", for crying out loud, and tried to greet him again.

"Hi. I-I mean … hi. N-no, I mean … hello. G-good morning, Antonio. Yeah, t-the last one."

Antonio chuckled and gave me another smile, this one luckily not as killing as the former one, and sat down opposite from me.

"Ooh, hot chocolate!" Then he frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side and making himself look so fucking cute it should be a crime. "Or do I want tomato juice?"

I finished my third glass of toma-range/orang-to juice and peered up at him. "Try both," I suggested, totally forgetting my promise to myself to hate him like he was the devil himself.

Antonio just looked at me strangely before chuckling again, reaching for only hot chocolate.

So since apparently Capital people are ignorant of the wonderfulness that is Pasta-For-Breakfast, I decided to try the waffles.

The waffles turned out to be pretty good especially with a load of strawberries and strawberry syrup because they were completely two different things, dammit!

I stayed away from whipped cream though.

C-cleaning my curl in my morning shower was definitely n-not fun.

...

So I ate until I felt like I was going to die or at the very least explode. Then I took a piss and ate some more.

Then Julius Abernathy walked in - not hungover, but drunk (Before nine o'clock in the freaking morning? You've gotta be kidding me.) - and totally killed my happy bubble.

He flops down into a chair and pours himself another glass of wine.

I was pissed off. He was supposed to be supporting his Tributes and getting us sponsors, but he sure as hell seemed to appreciate his wine more than caring to to save our lives.

"Oi, bastard," I said, snapping my fingers in front of his face. "Aren't you supposed to be training us?"

His brandy colored eyes slowly focused on my face and he laughed. "Stay alive."

"You -" My fist snaps forward but that asshole's reflexes are pretty damn fast because he was gripping my wrist, stopping my punch an inch from his face.

It hurt, dammit. I was going to have bruises.

I scowled and did the only thing I could; I flicked him on the forehead.

Ha!

Great, Lovino. Way to go acting like a man.

That couldn't have possibly hurt him, but it pissed him off royally, because he fucking shoved me back and I had to grip the table with my good hand to avoid falling on my ass.

Then the bastard when back to sipping his wine.

Antonio was no longer smiling. He reaches over and knocks the wineglass out of Julius's hand.

Julius slowly looks up, at the green eyes flashing dangerously, and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

Then his fist slams into Antonio's jaw, knocking him backwards.

"Hey, you motherfucking -!" Julius turns towards me and I squeak - no growl - and lob a knife in his direction.

Which lands an inch from that bastard's fingers.

Ha.

Nevermind that it was totally unintentional.

Julius looks a little surprised as he inspects his almost decapitated finger. "Maybe I do have a pair of fighters this year, huh?" His voice was surprisingly musical, with a hint of an Italian accent.

"Yeah! You bet you do!" I said, a little loudly.

Antonio, rubbing his bruised jaw, looked at me with an expression that plainly said, "We do?"

I glared at him, yanked the knife from the table, looked up at the wall and imagined the potato eater's face on that slab of wood, and threw the knife as hard as I could.

Granted, it may not have been very hard, and totally missed my mark by a whole fucking two feet, and lodged itself into a crack in the wall instead.

I turned around, pretending that was what I was aiming for.

"There. Next time you insult us that goes between your fucking eyes, you fucking jackass." I crossed my arms in front of my chest because I was just that badass.

Julius rewarded me with an amused grin. "Fiery, eh? Okay, how's this for a deal, boys? If no one interferes with my drinking -" he nods to Antonio and his smashed wineglass - "I'll stay sober enough to help. But you follow whatever I say. Any protest, and the deal's off."

Antonio and I nodded.

"Okay, first of all, good job Lovino. You've proved that not all Italians are as pathetic as they seem."

I glared, imaginary flames shooting out of my eyeballs. "What, bastard?"

Julius waved aside my flames of fury like they were nothing, which they were, and frowned at me. "Language, Lovi."

"Only family calls me Lovi," I snapped, finally sitting down, because I realized I looked like an idiot to be the only one standing.

Julius's eyes darkened. He hesitated, then said,"But I am family. Your mother was my sister."

I was shocked, then became furious. "Don't you fucking dare joke about something like that!" I nearly screamed at him, looking around frantically for another knife. I settled for a fork.

"Put the silly thing down before you hurt yourself," Julius said lazily, and I gripped the poor silverware harder, then winced when I realized it was my bruised wrist.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a rumpled photograph. It was a picture of him about twenty years ago, when he was a boy, surrounded by his mother and older sister.

I stared at his sister, who looked almost exactly like Feliciano.

Something in the corner of my eye prickled, and I quickly dropped the fork.

Julius looked at me sadly. "I was the winner of the fiftieth Hunger Games. But I had used the Games against the Capitol. And as my punishment, they killed my mother and sister."

I made a strangled noise.

"She had a husband and two adorable baby boys. The mayor managed to convince them to spare their lives, but they could not receive any assistance or be in contact with me. That's why you nearly starved to death."

I breathed in sharply, keeping my eyes wide open.

I had to keep my eyes wide open - if I'd close them, my welled-up tears would trickle down and … a-and I really didn't want that to happen. I felt horribly enough already. Crying would only give me a huge headache and a feeling of deep shame.

"That's enough," I said hoarsely. "This is not helping us at all." It's just turning me a pile of goo and manly tears.

Julius put the photo away. Antonio cleared his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable, but also extremely sad.

"So I'll be honored if you called me uncle," Julius added.

That snapped me out of my daze. "No fucking way."

"How about Grampa?" he suggested, a twinkle in his eye.

"Fuck you," I said bluntly.

He had the guts to wag his finger at me. "Remember? You and Antonio promised to do as I say. You can call me Nonno Roma."

I could just feel my left eyebrow start twitching spastically.

Antonio raised his hand. "And me?"

"Just Roma will do."

I was about to grill stupid Nonno for information but just then the train pulled into the Capitol.

I filed away all the heartbreaking bedtime stories to cry my eyeballs out later and ran over to the window.

God, those freaks of nature a.k.a Capitol people were staring at us.

I dove under the table (God, Lovino there goes your pathetic dreams to be a real man) but Antonio was smiling and waving at them.

"What the fuck?" I hissed at him, peering up from between the gaps in the tablecloth.

He turns back to beam at me. "Who knows? One of them may be rich."

My mouth opened and closed noiselessly, and I felt like I'd been stabbed in the gut for the second time that day.

I should've remembered to hate that tomato bastard. Because he did have a brain under all those cute brown mess of curls and he could be evil enough to kill.

Me.

I gulped, trying not to simultaneously fucking cry/throw up/stab Antonio.

So I settled for staring at his ass because it looked so cute/lickable/bitable in tight designer jeans.

...

I give up on life.


	6. Chapter 5

"Okay, this is the last one," came the shrill voice in my ear.

IwillnotcryIwillnotcryIwillnotfuckingcry-

Riiiiiiiiip.

That's the sound of hair being torn from my leg.

"Aaaaaahhhh!"

And the sound of pure manliness, torn to fucking shreds.

"All done!" another one of them cried, and I sigh in relief, bringing my hand up to scrub my teary eyes.

Then I inspect my hand. It is now smooth and clean, the nails neat and clipped, and pink because they had scrubbed off three layers of dirt and at least two layers of skin cells off.

My hair was washed, but they didn't dare try to flatten my curl again after I jabbed one of them in the eye with my jabbing fingers of death~!

...

"You know, you're really not horrible at all, even if you are from District 12," one of them tried to compliment me.

"What do you mean from District 12?" I snarl, because my skin was fucking sore and that put me in a pissy mood.

They jump and resort to tittering among themselves at my handsome self, then called in the head stylist.

Oho. I can't wait to see what he looked like, if his stylists were anything to judge from.

Think multicolored birds with human limbs and drowned in fucking rainbows and glitters.

Anyway Mr. Stylist arrives and before he even walks through the door he orders the other three out.

And they left without giving me my clothes back.

Fuuuuuck.

Now another one of those freaks are going to come in.

But you can understand my surprise when a young man walks in, looking completely normal.

He only looked a few years older than me, with sandy colored hair, which seemed to be - shockingly - his natural color, and wide bluish-green eyes, which I assumed to also be natural. The only makeup he wore was a hint of glittery eyeliner that brought out the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Hello, I'm Toris Cinna Laurinaitis," he says, smiling warmly at me. His voice even lacked the silly Capitol accent. "You can call me Toris."

"Uh, hi," I said, all smooth and sophisticated.

Not.

"And, uh, you can call me Lovino."

Duh.

He stared intently at me, and I fought the urge to cover myself.

"U-um, so you're new? I haven't seen you before on TV," I said nervously, because if he starts inching closer to me I fucking bitch-slap him - no slap him like a man! - and maybe give him a nice kick in the balls too.

"Yes, I'm new," he says in a quiet, musical tone.

"Oh since you're new I supposed they dumped you in the crappiest District," I mutter.

He shakes his head. "I specifically asked for District 12."

Huh. Maybe he was just stupid because obviously District 12 end up dead last (or should I say first?) every year in the Games.

"I'm not stupid," Toris says with a small smile. "I think you have a chance to win."

GAH! Mind readers everywhere!

"Is your hair naturally like that?" he indicates my curl.

"Yes," I say sternly. "And you may not do anything to it, which includes flattening it. Because if you do, I'll fucking castrate you, assuming you have balls, of course."

Toris ignores my rudeness. "Don't worry, Lovino. I wouldn't dream of altering it. It gives you personality."

Gasp!

Someone actually liked my messed up hair the way it was!

"And you do have a nice, male figure."

...

Dude, way to ruin it.

I don't know whether to be flattered or creeped out.

So I decided to be both.

Toris must've seen me flinch because he walks towards the closet and comes back with a simple white robe. "Sorry for making you uncomfortable. Please dress in this robe and we'll talk about costumes over lunch."

I slip the sheet off and pulled on the fluffy robe. I follow him down the hallway and into a bright, sunlight room. There were two, comfortable couches facing each other, and in the middle was a table already loaded with food.

What caught my attention was the entire wall made of glass, and I could see the motherfucking hugeness of the gorgeous Capitol all laid out. We must be in one of the taller buildings because I could see for miles.

I sat down on the couch, and even though I still felt full from last night and this morning's binge, I started heaping up my plate- with pasta, of course.

Because one can never get tired of pasta.

Ever.

Still, I sampled other interesting dishes because I'll probably never get to try them again in my life.

Because once the Games start, I'll be dying at a ripe old age of sixteen and four months.

But let's not think about that because it could kill my appetite.

Toris didn't eat, but merely watched me eat.

As I shovel another of forkful of food into my mouth I wonder what it'd be like to eat like this everyday. To never go hungry. To have to constantly worry about weight gain instead of starvation.

"We must all seem despicable to you," Toris says quietly, echoing my thoughts.

I swallow the last bite of food on my plate, pause for a moment to make sure my stomach wouldn't explode, and then started loading up on dessert.

"Well, it's not your fault," I mutter, scooping up a slice of tiramisu.

"Ah, thank you Lovino."

Huh. I actually said something nice for once. And to a complete stranger too.

Maybe I shouldn't always act like a sourpuss asshole.

As a reward, I dump three scoops of ice cream on top of my plate of molten chocolate and various cakes and cream.

Probably just slightly under three thousands calories. Yum.

Since I wasn't inhaling my food like a fucking maniac anymore, Toris began telling me about his plans for my clothing.

I had been dreading this.

In case you don't know, each District's Tributes are supposed to be dressed up in costumes and shit that represent the District. For example, since District 1 produces luxury items, they got to be dressed up as sparkly queerbags every year.

And then each pair of Tributes are paraded through the streets of the Capitol to attract sponsors.

Kind of like advertising.

Actually, more like prostitution.

...

ANYWAY.

District 12 has the most horrid costumes every year. Because we were the coal mining district meant that every previous stylist has been trying to dress Tributes up in shitty coal miner outfits.

And last year they were stark naked covered in coal dust.

Coal dust. What kind of fucking dipshit high on crack thought "gee, wouldn't they look so hot cover in dried shit"?

If you think I'll subject my Italian self to that you'll be dead wrong.

Emphasis on the dead.

Maybe if I could just finish the rest of that cheesecake I'll die of indigestion right now.

"N-no. I don't want to be freaking naked covered in dust!" I protest.

Toris smiles at my agitated expression. "No coal, I promise. But guess what the theme will be?"

"Unicorns?"

Toris frowned. "Why would it be unicorns?"

"Tomatoes?"

"Just tomatoes?"

"Roma tomatoes?"

"Roma tomatoes? Oh I see. Romano, Roma. But I'm afraid there's no tomatoes involved."

"Dang."

Toris leans closer, his eyes shining with excitement.

Now that's what I call a passion for fashion.

The next words out of his mouth made me rethink my opinion of him as a sane if not slightly gay man.

"Tell me, Lovino, are you afraid of fire? Or tights?"

Make that a flaming repressed homosexual man.

Time skip!

My makeup is minimalistic; Toris just had a bit of flame marking around my eyes and a bit of gold eyeliner.

So now I'm dressed in a black unitard (like the ones chicks wear to do gymnastics ... fuuuuck) which should've showed off my sexy Italian body anyway... if not for the just a little bit of extra padding around my waist.

I frown a bit in the mirror, poking a finger at my pudginess.

"Ahh, you look lovely, Lovino," Antonio says, grinning like the goofball he was.

I turn around and then quickly turn back to my reflection, because like hell I would drool over the way his black unitard (which happen to be made from a heavier, thicker manlier-looking [dammit!] material than mine) showed off his abs and muscles and he looked so yummy so very very delicious -

I thought you were full already, Lovino.

Mind, shut up.

A-and the light eyeliner around his eyes made his eyes look so h-huge and green and fucking g-gorgeous -

Antonio held up something that looked suspiciously like black leather straps. "Toris said to bring this to you for you to put it on."

I glanced over to see Toris and Antonio's stylist messing around with a bundle of black fabric.

"If Toris wants me to wear them, the bastard can tell me himself," I tell him coldly.

"But Lovi!" he whines, waving the straps around.

"Don't 'but, Lovi' me!" I growl. "You wear them yourself."

I was not secretly hoping that he would wear bondage gear.

Nope. Not at all.

Antonio held the outfit out in front of him, frowning. "I don't think I fit."

"Try it anyway," I snap impatiently, staring at the way his biceps flexed whenever he moved his arm.

Antonio did, but it really was too small.

"Ah, how do I say it without sounding like I'm flaunting," he says after a minute of fighting with the straps and giving me a lovely view of his flexing abs. "But..."

"You're too fat for it," I say bluntly.

"Yes~! That doesn't sound like I'm flaunting whatsoever~!" Then he narrows his eyes. "But I bet you can't fit in it either."

"Wait a fucking minute. Who said I can't fit in it?"

"Me~!"

"Give it here." I yank the weird-ass outfit from him and struggle into it.

It fit perfectly.

"Ha! Not only are you fucking wrong, you're also a fucking liar."

Antonio was gawking at me in a way that was making me feel uncomfortable.

"W-what are you staring at?" I turn to the mirror and scowled.

Those leather straps looked exactly like bondage gear, and it enhanced my curves and bones in all the right places, and would've looked so very disturbing if it wasn't for the unitard.

Damn, that homo-stylist knew how to turn a sexier piece of ass into an even sexier piece of ass.

Antonio might of thought so too because his hands were twitching in my direction as if he wanted to grope my fiiiine ass.

Fortunately I was saved from molestation when our stylists hurried over and fastened capes over us, and Antonio looked disappointed that he couldn't rape my backside with his eyes anymore.

We were seated in the carriage, and I scooted as far from Antonio as I could - which made his perverted expression turn into kicked-puppy mode - which I ignored ruthlessly.

We had to listen to all the shitty music and hear the crowd cheer for the other team's shittier costumes, and then it was our turn.

"We're not really going to be set on fire, right?" Antonio says nervously as our stylists or would-be murderers approached us with suspicious lighter-thingies.

"If they do, I'll tear off your cape if you tear off mine," I mutter.

"Yes," he nods. "We wouldn't want that sexy outfit of yours burn."

Whaaaat? But before I could cuss him out Toris lit us on fire.

The flames were so bright I was forced to shut my eyes, but I didn't feel like I was being seared into bacon yet. There was a warm ticklish sensation on my back, and I slowly opened my eyes.

Our capes were on fire.

And my butt itched.

But we were still alive. Yay!

Toris sighed in relief. "Looks like the fake flames worked." He looks up at me and smiles softly. "Smile and look happy, Lovino. Tonight's your night."

I want to tell him that I am not a dog that could smile on command, but then we started moving. Toris said something else but I couldn't hear him over the roar of the crowd.

I jump when I felt a warm hand envelope mine.

Antonio grins at me. "Toris said to hold hands. Something about presenting us as a team."

It would be so rude for me to pull away, not because his hand felt n-nice and warm and s-strong while mine was clammy and shaking.

We entered the city and it seemed like the cheers were louder than ever. I'm sure we looked like we were literally on fire as we paraded through the darkened streets, and I couldn't help but feel a bit hopeful.

Antonio was smiling and waving at the crowd. Then he squeezed my hand lightly and smiled even brighter at me.

And then something shocking happened (suddenly, out of the blue, just like that, I never saw it coming, yadayadayada).

The corners of my mouth tilted upwards.

OH MY GOD.

There was actually a smile forming on my face. Slowly, but steady. And a big one too, because I felt my smile getting broader.

I beamed right back at him, then at the people in the audience. Someone threw me a rose and I caught it.

Then I blew a kiss in the general direction from where the rose came from and that area cheered even louder.

The fuck?

…

Seriously, just… just what?

I... blew... kisses?

"You're so beautiful when you smile," Antonio whispered and I could feel my face redden, but I was having too good of a time to smack him.

As we were arriving at President Winter's mansion for his speech, I could see us on the huge screen. We looked almost ethereal with the flames framing us against the darkness, and we were getting a lot more screentime than any other District.

I was zoning out for most of the speech, and then the national anthem was played and all the chariots made a final circle around the parade route and then it was back to the Training Center.

As soon as we arrived Toris and the stylists extinguished our flames. I realized that I still had Antonio's hand in a deathgrip and quickly dropped it.

Antonio looked disappointed. "But, Lovi~!"

Finally I could smack him.

But it didn't feel as good as I thought it would.

"That's for calling me 'Lovi'," I huffed as Toris peeled the cape off me.

Antonio rubbed his reddening cheek and turned his head to give me a tired, but at the same time very sweet (h-how the hell did he always manage to do that, dammit) look. "I apologize. But I have to say you looked amazing tonight. So very, very sexy."

I wanted to run away because I did NOT want to like him and then watch him die.

Because it would be so fucking cliche like Romeo and Juliet and would make me empty the contents of my stomach and I could probably kill someone with the mere weight of my partially digested -

Ugh. Not going there.

But i-it was all his fault! Didn't he know that we both stood an excellent chance of dying?

As I was wallowing in my own moodiness - well, I was always moody, but still. Now I had to wait for my brain and body to process the current situation and make me feel like a stressed puddle of shit.

Ooh, goodie. I couldn't wait for that to happen.

Then the bastard leaned over and kissed me.


	7. Chapter 6

What.

The.

Fuckkity.

Fuck.

But...

You probably thought I'd punch him in the balls or kick him in the teeth - or the other way around? - or do all sorts of typical Lovino-style things to him (and shiiiit that really sounded so fucking perverted) but I didn't.

Because I realized that two could play this game.

Because I wouldn't shed a single fucking tear if he broke his heart after I died.

Because you're dead, of course, my helpful brain said.

And I melted into the kiss like a fucking teenager.

A-and I felt the last bits of my manliness/straight-ness melt away too.

...

While I was mentally shutting myself up Antonio pulled away, smiling oh-so-blindingly-bright at me.

It was just a single, chaste press of lips, and I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

B-but his lips had felt n-nice anyway, but that's not the point.

My heart was hammering and I was sure my face was -

"Ah, you're so cute! Your face is like a tomato," Antonio cooed, pinching my cheeks.

There was a soft squeal of delight behind me.

"Like, aren't you two totally the cutest thing since, like, _twincest_, I mean, kittens?"

GAH!

Feliks grinned at us, one hand on his hip and the other pointed at us. He was wearing a schoolgirl-ish outfit today with his hair in a ponytail.

He was so fucking gay he wasn't gay anymore; he was totally a chick with a dick.

...

While my brain was slowly turning into pink mush, Feliks skipped over to Toris and threw his arms around the poor guy and kissed him full on the mouth.

And Toris dropped whatever the fuck he was doing - cleaning up after us, by the way - and kissed Feliks back.

W-with tongue.

I was feeling a little sick watching those two suck at each other's faces, though the other stylists (male or female) just stood there and ogled oh so shamelessly.

Then I realized that Antonio's hands were still cupped around my face and I quickly stepped back, looking wildly for the exit.

I discreetly rubbed my lips, mentally cursing the bastard who stole my first kiss from me.

That fucking thief!

Antonio made wild arm gestures at me, which could either mean he was suffering from epilepsy or "Look! An elevator!"

I assumed it was the second option because there indeed was an open elevator waiting for us.

Antonio cleared his throat and finally the display of Lithuanian/Polish soft porn ended.

"Like, totally sorry for making you guys, like, wait, but I just had to congratulate Liet on the totally gorgeous costumes!" Feliks said, tugging on Toris's wrist and waving us towards the elevator.

"Where are we going?" Antonio asked, walking ahead of me.

Or I was walking behind to sneak glances at his glorious ass.

"The District 12 team will be staying on the twelfth floor of the Training Center, where you will prepare yourselves for the games," Toris explained, albeit a bit breathlessly.

We piled in and it was a pretty amazing elevator because it seemed to be made of crystal so you can watch people on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up in the air.

But since I was too busy staring at Antonio's nice back, I didn't see much else.

I am not obsessed with him, alright? He was just there, in front of me.

...

Oh, go fuck yourself.

Anyway, my room was gorgeous- soo plushy- with a hairdryer that detangles your hair (nope, not going to risk my curl trying that out), a programmable closet (OHMIGOSH REALLY?), and a giant menu with food that appears on command.

...

Oh, did I mention that closet?

...

I think I'm in shock right now.

...

I think I also screamed like a little bitch.

...

Maybe I'll just skip dinner and try on a bazillion different outfits.

Then I smacked myself for acting even more like a bitch - no, like Feliks - and so I said farewell to my motherfucking awesome closet for like, five minutes while I showered.

Then I wore the classiest outfit ever and made me look so fucking beautiful - no manly - that I almost cried tears of joy.

And then I walked around and started sampling every type of pasta they had to offer and I was on my tenth mini-plate when they called me to dinner.

Good. I was fucking starving.

We sat around and ate dinner and I think I drank too much wine because everything is fuzzy and I laugh whenever Antonio fucking said anything.

They brought in a huge cake and set it ablaze with alcohol and all I could think was "oooh I hope it doesn't fucking melt the frosting."

Then I saw the waitress girl serving us. She looked Ukrainian (don't ask me how the fuck I knew this) and she had short blond hair, teal eyes, and dressed in white like the other servers.

And she had boobs the size of fucking whales.

...

What? It should be mentioned, dammit. They're worth it.

…

"Hey, I know you! I know you!" I said, then cringed, because I sounded like my gay-ish brother when I was drunk.

And I swear I wasn't talking to her rather "huge tracts of land."

The poor girl looked terrified and seemed to try to shrink behind her huge boobs- (Sorry, I just really couldn't unsee them).

I began to feel queasy, and it wasn't just from the food and alcohol.

Feliks peered at me, his own cheeks tinted pink from the wine. "That's, like, totally impossible. She's, like, and Avox."

"What's an Avox?" I asked stupidly.

Feliks flicked blond tresses over a shoulder. "An Avox, is like, someone who committed a crime, like treason, and totally has their tongue cut out."

Like, EW.

"And you're totally not supposed to talk to them unless you're, like, giving an order."

"B-but-" I started.

"She looks like Roddy Edelstein, right?" Antonio cut in.

I stared at him. Roddy - Roderich - Edelstein was one of Antonio's weird gay-ass friends at school, was fucking male (I think so anyway),and a stuffy, repressed, sex-starved idiot who would spend hours on his precious piano playing shitty German music but claiming that the music was composed by Austrians.

Pissed the hell out of Ludwig. The Austrian stealing his potato music.

If that chick was dipshit Roderich, then I was a hundred percent straight.

Which I am.

...

Ok. Maybe a teensy bit leaning towards, you know, the other side.

But I swear even if you were a 100% straight, homophobic manly man, you would immediately turn gay-as-rainbows-and-pink-frosting too upon seeing that hot Spanish bastard.

...

ANYWAY.

I knew what a lifesaver looked like when it was being thrown to me.

"Yeah!" I said loudly. "Looks totally like that prick - I mean that chick I know from school."

The entire table relaxed.

"Oh, that's okay then," Toris said. "Because then you wouldn't have any associations with her at all."

I didn't like the tone of warning in his voice.

Antonio turned to me. "It must be the eyes," he said, continuing the charade. "And maybe the hair too."

"And the boobs," I said bluntly, but nobody was paying attention to me anymore.

Whew.

We watched the replay of the opening ceremony and I wanted to fucking hide under the table because it was not me who was smiling and blowing kisses.

Nonno looks pleased with the result, which is quite a difficult expression with the amount of alcohol he's had. "Who's idea was it to hold hands?"

"Mine," Toris said, trying to get Feliks to sit up, who was completely smashed.

"Jjjjust the perfect touch of reeebellion," Nonno slurred. "Verrrrry nice."

I was anxious to get out of there, and so was Antonio. We excused ourselves and Antonio suggested that we chat on the roof because the wind would mask our voices.

We were so ninja.

The scene from the roof was great and shit. It was more of a garden, so we sat leaning against a stone bench, watching the little lights flicker by on the roads.

"I wonder if anyone tried to escape by jumping off," I mused, leaning my head against Antonio's warm shoulder.

"They can't. It's electrified." He waited patiently for my explanation of the Avox.

I pretended I was examining a blossom, but then something crawled over my fingers and I shrieked like a bitch.

Antonio laughed, and because he was so brave and a man and shit, he casually brushed whatever it was off my fingers.

"So Sadik and I were hunting one day and we saw the chick and a younger boy - her brother maybe? - running. They had on the shitty expensive Capitol clothes, so of course they were from the Capitol."

Antonio nodded at my brilliant logic.

"They were in some sort of deep shit, but we couldn't do anything. A hovercraft came, and they fucking shot the boy with a spear like he was some animal and hauled him up that way. The girl screamed but they captured her in a net."

I shuddered, remembering the spray of blood raining down on us.

It took three weeks for the bloodstains to wash out of my jacket.

You're so fucking shallow, aren't you Lovino? Worry about clothing when someone died.

"Do you think they saw you?"

I shook my head. "I definitely saw that chick's boobs, which is how I recognized her, but I don't think they saw me. Because I was a super spy and camouflaged like one too!"

Or it could've just been Sadik piling leaves on me.

Anyway that last part I told Antonio was a lie. Because the girl with the huge boobs stared right at me, and her eyes burned into my soul.

And I did nothing.

While I was wallowing in Emo-World, Antonio looked thoughtful. "I wonder why they ran away. I'd leave this place," he blurted, then looked around anxiously.

"I mean, I'll go home and be with my family again," he said smoothly, and laughed. Any eavesdropping asshole would just think he was a scared, homesick Tribute.

"So, who's Sadik?" Antonio asked casually, draping an arm over my shoulders.

I fucking tried to dislocate his shoulder, but I had a little too much to drink and fingers were too uncoordinated for such a sophisticated action, so I just just pinched him really hard.

"Ow! That's mean!" he whined, rubbing his arm.

"Sadik is my friend," I answered shortly.

"Is he your cousin? Did he come to see you on your last day in District 12?"

"What the fuck is this?" I snapped. "The Spanish Inquisition?"

He stared at me for a moment, which those stupidly beautiful eyes of his, before grinning. "You don't even know what the Spanish Inquisition was, Lovi!"

"Do too!" I paused. "It's like a job interview, right?"

Antonio laughed, and I was going to punch him for laughing at me, but his laugh was just so fucking charming that I spared him.

I shivered and stood up. It was getting too damn cold. So I told Antonio I was going back to my room and designing a new wardrobe.

Antonio just raised an eyebrow and said that if I'd stayed he'd warm me up.

I didn't think it was with a heater pulled out of the air - or the electrified force field - so I reluctantly - no, quickly! - backed away from his very t-tempting - I mean perverted! - offer.

...

It sounded even less convincing than I thought.

So I went back to my room with my head swimming with Antonio - no - with clothing designs when I realized that the big-breasted Avox girl was collecting my unitard and weird leather strapped outfit from the bathroom.

I cleared my throat and she looked up with me with huge eyes.

They weren't resentful, but they weren't exactly friendly either.

So I chose the Italian solution to everything in this weird little thing called life:

I gave up and ran away.

I kicked off my shoes and dove under my very fluffy covers of the bed and lost the mood for designing clothing - gasp!

I peeked over the top of my blanket just in time to watch the Avox leave. Her boobs were so big that she was already half a foot out the door before she was actually out the door.

I buried my face into the pillow, and let me tell you that is a difficult thing to do without purposely suffocating yourself.

...

I wonder if she'll enjoy watching me die.


End file.
